


Alluring Lights

by flowercrownclem



Category: Marrissey - Fandom, The Smiths
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Moors Murders, Suffer Little Children au, also kind of sad, but fluffy for the most part, spooky ghost! au, takes place in 1976, unnecessary amounts of girl pop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownclem/pseuds/flowercrownclem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit, you’re shaking.” He slid his hand up my back, making soothing circles, “I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken to anybody in so long.”<br/>“Neither have I,” I gave him my best attempt at a wry smile. He looked at me incredulously for a moment before laughing.<br/>“Well, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” he grinned.</p><p>or, Steven moves to Manchester into what is apparently a haunted flat. Johnny is the resident ghost, clad in greaser gear and looking for a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rattle My Bones

Manchester had a dark history. It was full of mystery and eerie unease, all unspoken discomfort and quiet guilt, covered in a thick fog that never seemed to fully let up.

For whatever reason my mother decided that Manchester would be our fresh start. She and my father had been separated for years but with the officiality of signed papers she’d felt the need to move on in a more literal way. The pair of us had been packed and ready to go before the ink even dried. She’d found us a small flat in town within walking distance to a secondary school and near enough to the job she’d landed.

As soon as we arrived I pulled out the box with my records, lugging them up to what would be my room along with my turntable. Before anything else, my room would be filled with music. I sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, prying the box open and flipping through the records carefully. I pulled out an old Marvelettes record and set the needle, sitting back to take in my surrounds as the record started up.

The room wasn’t big, but it would be comfortable once I set everything up. The walls were a discolored, old shade of white, lit by the curtainless window across from the door. The carpet was an oatmealy sort of beige, worn down in patches and matted down to the floor, interspersed with odd colored stains.

I turned to retrieve more boxes and paused in the doorway, my fingers ghosting over an expanse of faded graphite lines, inching up the door frame. Beside each was a scribbled date and the same pair of initials- J.M. The last date reached my eye level, reading 1963. A cool breeze drifted through the hallway, reminding me of the open door and my mother, struggling with moving boxes at the bottom of the stairs. I hurried out the door to help her, laughing as she handed over the box she was carrying gratefully.

That night I was curled up in my freshly made bed, reading by lamplight when I realized that I was shivering. Even with thick socks and a jumper there was a chill that I couldn’t escape. I went to the window but found that it was shut firmly and frowned, crossing the hall to my mother’s room.

“Mum?” I called softly through the door.

“Mhm?” she replied sleepily, “Come in, Steven.”

“Mum,” I repeated, pushing open the door, “is there something wrong with the thermostat?”

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Are you cold?”

“Just my room,” I explained. “It’s freezing.”

“Just grab an extra blanket and we can have a look at it in the morning. How’s that, Love?”

“Okay,” I agreed, wishing her goodnight although she seemed to have already fallen back to sleep. I rummaged through a box of linens until I found a warm quilt, wrapping it around myself and returning to my room. I climbed into bed, my shivering slowly subsiding until I was able to fall asleep.

The next day I was to start school. I wasn’t looking forward to starting three weeks into the quarter, after everybody else had already found their place, but I knew it’d be best not to put it off any further. By the time my mother came down for breakfast I had dressed and eaten and just had to kiss her cheek before heading off to college. The walk was blessedly short and somehow even the early morning mist felt warmer than my room had the night before. I would have to remember to ask my mother to look at the thermostat when I got home.

The school was no different from any other- bored students, strict teachers, bland campus, etc. I’d made it through the first half of the day with nothing but a stack of homework to show for it, landing in the lunch hall with the rest of the mob at noon. I snagged a cheese sandwich and looked around for an empty table.

My eyes landed on a mostly vacant table, occupied only two boys. They smiled at me when they saw me looking, nodding invitingly to the empty space around them.

“Hi, I’m Andy,” the blond boy told me when I sat down.

“Steven,” I replied, nodding.

“I’m Mike,” the other boy with messy black hair said. “Is this your first day?”

“Yeah, I just moved here yesterday.

“What classes have you got?” Andy asked me and I handed him my schedule. He grinned, “We’ve got the next class together!”

“‘S nice,” I agreed.

“We should all hang out some time,” Mike said. “Where do you live?”

“A flat a few blocks over,” I told them the address.

“You’re staying there?” Mike’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” I replied, my brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Andy reassured me. “Mike’s just dumb.”

“Hey!” Mike scowled.

“It’s just an urban legend thing, really,” Andy told me.

“What is?”

“That building, I guess. I don’t know, just nobody’s lived in that flat for nearly ten years. There’s these rumors with the local kids that it’s haunted around there. It’s stupid. I’m pretty sure Mike has started at least 25% of the rumors himself.”

“They’re not rumors!” Mike argued. “They are real facts and accounts.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Andy told me. “He’s a paranoid baby.”

“Am not,” Mike growled.

I tried not to let the talk of ghosts get to my head but that can be difficult to do late at night in a freezing cold room with no source of a draft.


	2. I Want a Boy for My Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny doesn't know how to woo someone and Moz is kind of a baby.

“How was your first week?” my mother asked when I got home from school that Friday.  
“It was fine, mum,” I smiled, slipping off my shoes. “Why are you home so early?”  
“An old friend and I are meeting up tonight so I got off work a bit early. Will you be alright by yourself for a bit?” she asked, stroking my arm.  
“Sure,” I told her. “Have fun.”  
“Okay, there’s some left overs in the fridge that you can heat up. I won’t be out too late but come here and give me a kiss in case you’re already in bed when I get back.” She leaned in expectantly and I pecked her cheek before passing by to retreat to my room for the night.  
“Goodnight,” I called as she closed the door. As soon as she left the flat seemed to become almost immediately too quiet. The sort of quiet that makes you feel on edge, and heightens even the smallest noise. Standing halfway to my room I could hear the faint whistling of the wind outside and the humming of the refrigerator. I walked slowly to my room, my footsteps too loud and echoing through the hallway. I went straight to my records, leaning over the blue plastic crate of vinyl. I flipped through the flimsy sleeves, searching for something to play.  
I jumped when suddenly music poured out of the small speakers, a slow beat dancing around the room.  
“ _One night you held me tight_ ,” Diana Ross sang out as I stared curiously at the turn table. I hadn’t thought I’d left a record set but I must have forgotten, and then somehow bumped into the table? I shrugged, leaving the volume at the loud level it was at and let the music follow me to the kitchen.  
“ _Next day you came my way, without a word to say you passed me by- didn't bat an eye. My darling, won't you tell me why_?” came the lament of the Supremes as I started to heat up my dinner, nodding my head along. “ _Are you just a breath taking, first sight soul shaking, one night love making, next day heartbreaking guy?_ ”  
I sat alone at the kitchen table, the record finishing halfway through my meal and leaving me in silence again. With the absence of music I could feel my mood falling. There was always something oddly sad about a table set for one, like a curse of solitude. At least with my mother there I had someone to talk to. As if to make matters worse I could feel that same chill from my room creeping up through the kitchen.  
I frowned, picking at my food for another minute or two before clearing my plate and turning off the kitchen light. I trudged back to my bedroom, wrapping myself in my quilt and standing morosely before the record player switching out the records and placing the needle gently against the sleek black vinyl. I let myself fall down to the floor, leaning against the side of my bed and bringing my knees up to my chest, cocooning myself in the quilt.  
“ _Sha la la la la la la la la_ ,” the Cookies sang sweetly through my room. I closed my eyes, resting my chin on the top of my knees and began to lightly sway. There was comfort in music, in sound. Music equated emotion and could easily be viewed as a constant companion. In music I was understood. There was something wonderful in memorized notes and words, something magical that never would be understood.  
“ _I want a boy to comfort me and treat me tenderly..._ ”  
The sound became distorted for a moment, turning too-slow like molasses as the power behind the turntable stopped spinning. I looked up at the light fixture ahead of me as the light flickered. I frowned but the light became steady once more, the record going back to it’s original speed. I settled back into my cocoon but I couldn’t relax as much as I had before. I felt tense, the skin at the back of my neck prickling slightly. I shifted, trying to ignore it but there were goose pimples rising on my arms and it was like the usual chill had enveloped me completely.  
Suddenly both the lights and the music cut out with an electrical crackle as a voice whispered behind me.  
“Happy birthday.”  
I screamed.  
I screamed so hard my throat felt raw after only a moment, my heart clenching sickeningly in my chest and my body tensing so suddenly that I toppled over, collapsing against the solid form beside me as the lights flickered back on.  
“Shit,” I heard from above me, “shit-shit-shit- _fuck_!”  
I felt tears prickling against my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes shut, my body curling into a fetal position as arms wound around me.  
“Shit,” the voice repeated. “I’m so so sorry. That was the worst idea ever.”  
“What the fuck?!” I shouted, tearing myself away and kicking my legs until I was sitting against the opposite wall. Across from me, where I’d just been sitting was a boy.  
“I’m sorry!” he squeaked, “I’m really really sorry! It’s just- the song, you know? ‘Happy birthday’?”  
“What the fuck?” I asked again, rubbing a fist against my eyes to wipe away the tears.  
“I’m sorry!” he said again. “Shit, that was terrible, wasn’t it? It was going to be cute! At least, I thought it’d be. It wasn’t. I’m really fucking sorry.”  
“Who are you?” I demanded, looking him over. To be completely honest he was cute. His black hair was sculpted up in a perfect pompadour, a single strand falling down into warm brown doe eyes. His skin was even paler than mine, and smooth like he hadn’t been outside in a long time. He was wearing a very apologetic, weak smile and a shiny leather jacket.  
“I’m Johnny,” he told me.  
“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, pulling my knees back up to my chest.  
“Well, technically it’s my room,” he said, offering a shy smile. “Or at least, it was.”


	3. Breath-taking Guy

“What do you mean it ‘was’ your room?” I asked, a note of suspicion in my voice.  
Johnny seemed to consider it for a second and stood up, stepping towards me but stopping when I tensed again. He raised his hands slightly and moved forward slowly, as though walking towards a frightened animal. He went to the doorway beside me and I shifted forward to watch him. He had a strange, sad look on his face as he ran a hand over the door frame.  
“J. M.” he read, “John Maher. My mum used to make a new tick every year so we could watch me grow. I was always so excited when she’d line me up and do it. Made me feel big, ya know? I never grew much but at the time I felt so grown up.”  
“What... what are you talking about?” I asked in barely a whisper.  
“I’m talking childhood memories, Steven. Haven’t you got those?” he asked in a light tone, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He sighed, “The last mark.”  
“Sixty-three?” I asked, standing slowly and peering over his shoulder, carefully leaving a foot or two between us.  
“That’s the one,” he said grimly. “Last time I grew.”  
“What happened?” I breathed, although I knew what the answer would be.  
“I died.”  
“I- I-” I stuttered, reeling back. His blunt statement made the situation suddenly more real, although it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible or logical. My knees buckled when I reached the edge of my bed, landing roughly as I stared open-mouthed at the ghost across from me.  
“Steven?” he asked, a concerned furrow in his brow. “Steven, breathe.”  
I could feel my heart pounding loudly in my chest as I took in quick, shallow breaths.  
“Don’t freak out,” he begged. “Oh god, you’re freaking out. Why am I so bad at this?”  
“You-you’re a ghost,” I whispered, looking at him with wide eyes.  
“Um, yeah,” he said sheepishly, sitting cautiously beside me.  
“How?”  
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I just... am. I was dead and then I wasn’t. Or, well, I am still dead. Just... less.”  
I let out a shaky breath and he studied me with a worried expression.  
“Shit, you’re shaking.” He slid his hand up my back, making soothing circles, “I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken to anybody in so long.”  
“Neither have I,” I gave him my best attempt at a wry smile. He looked at me incredulously for a moment before laughing.  
“Well, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” he grinned.  
“I suppose so,” I agreed. Suddenly, I remembered something, “You said my name before.”  
“What?” he asked, pulling back just a bit.  
“You said my name. I don’t think I told it to you.”  
“Oh, uh,” he smiled sheepishly, “I kind of heard your mum say your name. I wasn’t, like, watching you, or anything. I was just kind of... there.”  
“Is that why it’s always cold?” I asked, realizing that with Johnny beside me the room felt only a bit cooler than it should have been.  
“Yeah, sorry about that. I tried to keep to the living room when you’d start shivering. This room is just sort of a home base, if you will.”  
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s not bad right now.”  
“When I’m solid the energy gets more concentrated,” he explained. “Otherwise I’m all spread out.”  
“Hmm,” I mumbled, looking him over and placing a hand on his shoulder, running my fingers down the sleeve of his jacket. I could feel the thin shape of his arm through the material and when I came to the end of his sleeve I laid my hand over his.  
His skin was cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly cold. It was more like resting against a window on a nippy day than being caught in a draft as I’d gotten used to since we’d moved.  
“I mean, not solid-solid,” he continued, looking at our hands. “I don’t know much about the whole thing, really, but I don’t think I’m as solid as I was. More... visible. And tangible, I guess. It’s not quite the same though.”  
He turned his hand over so that our palms were pressed together and slipped his fingers between mine, lifting our intertwined hands up and holding them over the bed.  
“Look,” he instructed, gesturing to the shadows cast on the bedspread.  
While my arm left a solid grayish shadow, his was oddly translucent, like the shadow cast by a balloon, or by the lenses of my glasses. It was somewhere between solid and not. At the point our hands met there was a pattern of dark and light shadow, human and ghost.  
“You feel solid,” I told him, squeezing his hand.  
“So does ice,” he pointed out. “It melts, though.”  
“Do you melt?” I asked teasingly. A smile flicked across his face but he quickly fell back to a sombre expression, meeting my eyes unflinchingly.  
“Everybody melts.”  
I could feel my fingers slip through his, falling through and landing back at my side as he began to swirl into mist at the edges. My gaze stayed locked on his and the last thing to disappear was his eyes, fixated on mine earnestly.


	4. When You're Young and In Love

Over the next few weeks Johnny and I fell into a sort of routine. I’d go off to school for some semblance of an education, occasionally talking to Andy and Mike but mostly avoiding social activity. When I got home I’d be greeted by waves of cool air and the feeling of being watched, both of which had become more comforting than unsettling. Johnny would usually let me at least begin my homework before solidifying, determined to greet me properly before my mother came home, although that usually allotted most of the evening.  
With my permission Johnny had eagerly taken to sifting through my room and listening to records when I was at school or doing something else he deemed boring. Most days I’d walk through the door to find the flat full of music, a record turning cheerfully in my room and seeping through the doorway.  
One day I opened the door and there was no shock of cold, just the far off sound of strings and piano, coming from my room. I frowned, laying my book bag carefully by the door and creeping down the hall, following the sound of the Marvelettes record.  
“ _Though many teardrops are bound to fall, true love can conquer all when you're, when you're young and in love..._ ” Wanda Young sang as I peeked around the doorframe. Through a haze of loud music Johnny lay across the floor in the center of my room, one arm thrown over his eyes and his form hazily translucent.  
“I like this song,” I said, sitting cross-legged beside him.  
“Steven!” he exclaimed, jumping up and clutching his chest, his outline snapping into shape. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”  
“Really?” I snickered, “I don’t know much about your existence as a ghost but I’m guessing heart failure isn’t a common ailment.”  
“Shut up,” he muttered, fiddling with the hem of his button-up. He flicked his wrist and the music stopped, the needle lifting from the vinyl.  
“How do you do that?” I asked in awe.  
“Do what?” he asked as another record started.  
“Switch records without touching them,” I said, watching the needle bob with the waves of the record.  
“Ghost magic,” he grinned.  
“How did you figure it out?” I asked, intrigued.  
“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I’ve had a while. Get’s pretty boring sitting alone in a flat for nearly fifteen years.”  
“Sorry about that,” I told him quietly.  
“S’not your fault,” he shrugged again.  
“Whose...” I began tentatively, “Whose fault was it? I mean, um, how...?”  
“How did I die?” he finished for me.  
“I suppose,” I replied shyly. Since we’d started talking I’d learned very little about how Johnny came to be a ghost, only the year he died and that it didn’t seem to be of natural causes. “You don’t have to tell me.”  
“No, um, it’s okay,” he said, sitting up straighter but leaving his head tilted down. “I was fifteen. Just got a job at the music store in town and I’d been going out with this girl Angie for about a year. I was working a late shift because I wanted to make some extra money- take her out for a nice date or something, you know? Anyway, it was getting late and I should have just gotten a ride or something but it wasn’t that far, really. I started off walking but it kept getting later and I remember looking at my watch and seeing that it was after midnight and thinking ‘shit, my mum’s gonna kill me! I said I’d be home more than an hour ago!’ I was about halfway home and I was trying to plan how to sneak in without waking my mum and this car came up next to me and the bird driving- she asks if I’m lost or something. I said I was just trying to get home but she goes on about how she lost her dog and she needs help finding him and I tried to decline but she said she’d pay me to help her and she’d even drop me off home when we were done.”  
He was twisting his fingers together nervously and I could see his hands shaking. I slid my own hand between us and pulled his to the middle, squeezing it encouragingly.  
“It seemed like a good deal,” he said, looking up at me earnestly. “I was just a stupid kid and I got in with her and she drove off and it seemed like one second we were in the middle of town and the next we were in the middle of nowhere. She just kept saying it wouldn’t take long, kept telling me not to worry- it’d only take a second and I’d be fine. That’s when I clued in that s-something was wrong but it was t-too late. As s-soon as the car st-stopped th-there was a bloke a-and he... Well, you know...”  
Johnny trailed off, grimacing. His chin was trembling slightly, his hands still shaking in mine. I brought him closer by his hands, slipping my arms around his back and pulling him against my chest, cradled half in my lap. He tucked his head easily under my chin, fingers gripping the fabric of my t-shirt tightly.  
“You’re okay,” I whispered soothingly, stroking the back of his head.  
“Am I?” came the choked response.  
“You will be,” I told him resolutely.


	5. Please Be My Boyfriend

“What ever happened to the greaser look?” I asked one lazy Sunday afternoon. My mother was visiting a friend and Johnny and I were curled up in my room, records turning and our hands twined together.  
“Hmm?” he looked up, blinking sleepily. I ruffled his loose mop of black hair and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt.  
“When I first moved in you always had the whole thing going, with the pomp and the jacket. I was just curious, was all.”  
“Oh yeah,” he said sheepishly, “I just kind of got more comfortable, I guess.”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, poking his side.  
“You know, with you and all,” he told me, fiddling with the edge of a blanket. “At first I sort of wanted to impress you.”  
“Really?” I grinned.  
“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “I wanted to look presentable!”  
“I like your hair like this,” I told him, a soft smile on my face. He hummed contentedly when I carded my fingers through his hair, leaning his head against my shoulder. He pushed into the crook of my neck and there was a scratch as the needle of the record player jumped ahead.  
“ _When I say I’m in love you best believe I’m in love L-U-V!_ ” The Shangri-Las began to sing as the music sprung to life.  
“Oh,” Johnny looked up in surprize. “I- uh, I wasn’t trying to do that.”  
“Really?” I smirked, imagining the blush that would be spread across his cheeks if he were alive.  
“I wasn’t!” Johnny insisted, bringing up his hand to move the needle back. My hand darted up to grab his wrist before he could send the instruction.  
“‘And when I see him in the street, my heart takes a leap and skips a beat,’” I sang along, pulling him up into a clumsy sort of a swing dance.  
“Steven!” he whined, “It was an accident!”  
“‘Gonna walk right up to him,’” I insisted, grinning madly and moving closer to him, making his eyes widen, “‘Give him a great big kiss-’”  
As the girls on the record made an over-exaggerated “mwah” of a kiss, I placed a loud kiss on the tip on Johnny’s nose, breaking away and into a fit of giggles. He pulled his hands out of my grasp, plopping himself back down on my bed and crossing his arms, a small pout on his face.  
“What?” I asked, flopping down beside him.  
“Nuthing,” he grumbled crossly.  
“What?” I demanded again.  
“Nothing!” he insisted, “I just thought...”  
“Thought what?” I asked teasingly, “Thought you were getting a kiss?”  
“No,” he pouted. “Shut up. I just-”  
“Did you want one?”  
“Huh?” he looked up, surprised.  
“Did you?”  
“I dunno,” he mumbled.  
“I just figured, you know, that you didn’t,” I explained casually. “You said you had a girlfriend before you...”  
“Oh,” he exclaimed, sitting up. “But that doesn’t count.”  
“Doesn’t count?” I laughed.  
“Nope,” he grinned. “I was alive. Totally different. Now I don’t really care, either way. I’m just a blob of ectoplasm masquerading as an entity. What do I have to be choosey about? Pretty is pretty- and you’re, you know... pretty.”  
"Pretty?" I asked incredulously.  
"Yeah," he nodded earnestly. "And I'm, well, dead. So there's that."  
I considered it for a moment before shaking my head and wrapping my arms around his middle, pulling him close to me.  
"Moz?" he asked quietly, tentatively snaking his arms around my waist.  
"You're Johnny," I told him, tightening my grip.  
"Yeah?" he agreed, confused.  
"I like Johnny." I pressed a warm kiss to the top of his head and he burrowed further into my embrace contentedly.  
“I like pretty,” he replied with a grin.  
“Shut up,” I laughed, pulling him closer.  
There was a moment of content silence before there came another scratch of the needle as a completely different record started up. I grinned wickedly, recognising the tune immediately.  
“Jesus christ!” Johnny exclaimed, standing up exasperatedly as the Shirelles sang the first line of ‘Please Be My Boyfriend.’ “I swear to god there must be some other fucking ghost in the house because I did not change that stupid record.”


	6. Don't Say Goodnight and Mean Goodbye

I was sitting on the floor working on school work with Johnny stretched out on my bed above me when the thought came to mind. As Johnny watched me write from over my shoulder I stopped and spoke without looking up from my paper.  
“What’s keeping you here?”  
“What do you mean?” he asked, sitting up.  
“I mean, no offense, but you’re not really supposed to be here, are you? There must be some reason behind it.”  
“Why?” Johnny spoke almost defensively. “Can’t some higher power just have made a mistake along the way?”  
“I don’t think so,” I insisted. “There has to be something keeping you here.”  
“I dunno, maybe there is. What does it matter?” Johnny asked, frowning.  
“Because,” I explained, “maybe if we find it you wouldn’t have to be here. You could cross over or finally rest or whatever it is that happens.”  
“Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t,” Johnny said crossly. “Maybe we should just leave it alone.”  
“Don’t you want to find out? You wouldn’t have to be stuck here forever- you wouldn’t have to be caught in the middle.”  
“No!” Johnny suddenly argued, his face twisting as he stood up and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “Maybe I don’t want to find out. Maybe we should just leave everything where it is and it can stay where they buried it and I can stay here and so can you and we just leave everything as it is. Isn’t that enough?”  
“Johnny,” I started softly, standing up to meet his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to force you. I just can’t stand that you were stuck here for so many years with no one. I just wanted to help. I thought that if you could pass over you might be happier.”  
“I am happy,” Johnny whispered.  
“I know,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, “But I don’t want you to be imprisoned here. What’s stopping you?”  
“I’m scared,” he admitted weakly. “I don’t know what happens after. I’m scared to leave. I don’t want to leave you.”  
“Don’t worry.” I promised him, “Everything will be all right. It’ll all be how it’s supposed to be.”  
He nodded, still unsure.  
“Do you.... do you know how to...?” I asked, not sure how to phrase it.  
“My body,” he told me. “It was never found. I’m almost positive that’s what it is.”  
“How do we do it? Just tell the police?”  
Johnny broke a smile, “Sure, just have you call them up all, ‘Oh hey my ghost friend- you know, that kid who was murdered some fifteen years ago? Well, you can finally stop the search for his body because he told me where it is.’ That’ll go over great.”  
“I figured we’d use a bit more tact than that,” I told him, laughing. “Do people still do anonymous tips?”  
“What would you say?” Johnny asked. “Tell ‘em you’ve just got the funniest feeling that if they start digging in this one spot they just might find a body?”  
“Essentially, yes. Do you have any better ideas?”  
Johnny shrugged, “I guess it’s the best we’ve got.”  
“Okay, now where are you buried?” I asked, pulling out a pen and paper.  
He took a deep breath, sighing heavily before he spoke.  
“The moors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter will be the end, which I might post it tomorrow if I get a chance.  
> Hopefully it doesn't end too suddenly but there wasn't really an easy way to lead into it...


	7. The Heavenly Place

Johnny didn’t want me to make the call right away. He begged me to put it off, to wait just a bit longer. I gave in, of course, with very little resistance. As afraid as he was to make his death final, I was afraid to lose him. I’d cursed the fate that had separated us by time and death, and blessed the one that allowed us the chance to meet at all.  
He was the best friend I’d ever had and I despised that I was aiding in his departure. But I knew it had to be done. The sooner he was found the sooner he could find peace. I didn’t want to risk anything coming in the way of his happiness so I wanted to make it happen as soon as I could.  
After school, nearly a week after we’d discussed it, I made the call. I found a grimy phone booth on the way home and pulled out the paper with the details of Johnny’s hidden burial. It made me wince just to see it mapped out on paper, how unceremonious it all was. His body abused even in death.  
I explained to the woman taking the call that I had information on one of the Moors Murders. At first she was hesitant, explaining that they hadn’t searched the area in years, likely assuming my call to be a joke.  
“Please,” I begged, “Just look again.” I read off the location that Johnny gave me, repeating it when she asked.  
“How do you know that’s where to look?” she asked, curiosity mixing with suspicion.  
“Will they search it?” I asked in return, avoiding the question.  
“There should be a team out in a few hours.”  
“Thank you,” told her, sincerely.  
I hung up the phone, stepping shakily back onto the street. I walked slowly back towards the flat, the world seeming flat around me, as though in a dream.  
“What did you do?” Johnny asked the moment I stepped inside.  
“I made the call,” I told him hollowly, my voice full of misery.  
“Why?” he demanded, his voice cracking.  
“I had to,” I reminded him. “We couldn’t keep avoiding it.”  
“You should have asked me first,” he protested angrily. “You shouldn’t have just done it! You should have warned me- you should have...”  
His face crumpled, anger turning onto sadness. I pulled him to my chest and hugged him tightly.  
“You’ll be okay,” I promised him. “I’m sorry, I should have said something, but it’ll be okay.”  
“I don’t want to go,” he practically whined. “It was just getting nice here.”  
“I know, it was,” I agreed. “But this is what’s meant to happen. This is how it’s supposed to be.”  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against my shoulder.  
“For what?”  
“For being here. For getting in your way. For... everything.”  
“Don’t apologise,” I insisted fiercely. “I’m glad you’re here. I hate that you might not be anymore. Johnny I... I love you.”  
“You do?” he asked meekly.  
“Of course I do,” I nearly laughed, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened. I’ll go mad without you.”  
“But I thought you wanted me gone,” he said, frowning.  
“Never,” I shook my head, “I just want what’s best. I want you to be happy, and I don’t want to risk anything ruining that. I didn’t want one week to turn into one year and suddenly I’m old and gray and no one even cares if I tell them where to search. I couldn’t let that happen.”  
“So... you love me?”  
“Naturally,” I grinned.  
“I love you to,” Johnny smiled, tucking his head into the crook of my neck and winding his arms around my waist.

Johnny could feel it when the search team was close. He was filled with a strange elation, clutching at my arm in unexpected excitement. As the team began to dig, he wrapped his arms around me and began to sway to the music flowing through our room. He hummed giddily and kissed my cheek.  
“Thank you,” he whispered in my ear.  
“I’ll see you soon,” I promised.  
“Not too soon,” he insisted, suddenly turning serious. He gripped my arms tightly, looking straight into my eyes. “Not for a long time. Promise me.”  
“Okay,” I conceded. “I’ll see you in a long time.”  
We spun slowly and lazily, savoring each other's presence. He began to flicker softly, like an old lightbulb as the Chiffons sang sweetly around us.

  
_“I don’t want the world on a little string_  
 _All I need is one little thing_  
 _I need the warmth of your embrace_  
 _Cause, Sugar, it puts me in a heavenly place_  
 _I don’t want to leave the heavenly place_  
 _I don’t want to leave the heavenly place_  
 _The warmth of your embrace_  
 _I’m never ever gonna leave”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that read and commented on or just enjoyed this fic!  
> This is the end but I've a sort of epilogue/alternate ending that I have written but I'm debating whether to post it or not. I think this ending is much cleaner and I'm afraid the other one might seem too much like just an afterthought. Let me know if you want it anyway at least as a bonus piece :)


	8. Alternate Ending/ Epillogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether to add this or not but you can read it if you want and choose the ending that you like the best

1981  
It had been five years since Johnny left. To be completely honest there were times that I did almost forget about him. Those were always cut short by the spinning of a record or the sharp cut of an unseasonably cold wind. I began to spend more time with Andy and Mike, and just a bit less in my room. My mind was almost only filled with hope that Johnny really had moved on to somewhere he could be happy forever, and that I might see him again someday.  
I remembered walking into the living room one morning, shortly after he left, when my mother was watching the news. The reporter was standing in front of those infamous moors, holding a microphone and feigning sulleness. They flicked to footage of the search teams, obviously having found something interesting. As happy that I was to have helped Johnny, I couldn’t help but turn away from the television, feeling sick.  
Eventually, I turned to writing to vent my frustration and loss. Before long I had notebooks filled to the brim with scribbles and song lyrics, poems and prose. I didn’t know what to do with any of them but bury them away in my room, perhaps to be excavated some day in the future.  
Then, one too-warm day in early summer, I heard a knock at my door. I figured it would be some salesman, or even Andy or Mike. I wasn’t in the mood to be social, and stayed hidden in my room. Without warning, my record player started up. I looked at it in shock as “Right Now and Not Later” poured from the speakers like a broken dam.  
I jumped up, looking around before running out of my room, throwing open the front door and meeting familiar brown eyes.  
“Johnny,” I breathed. “It’s not possible.”  
“I’m sorry?” he asked, eyes turning confused. “You’re Steven Morrissey, right?”  
“You- you don’t remember?” I asked, my heart falling.  
“Yeah,” he told me casually. “That Patti Smith show. Didn’t think you’d remember me, to be honest. My friend introduced us but you seemed... distracted.”  
As I ran my eyes over his face I could see small differences. Things like the set of his mouth, or the way that his hair fell. He looked older. He cast a shadow.  
“Sorry,” I told him, licking my lips nervously. “I, um, I had a lot on my mind.”  
It wasn’t a lie, not really. I’d been too lost in thought to notice anything or anyone. I wished I’d noticed him. I wished I’d never lost him.  
“So, I was told you were the one to talk to about starting a-”  
“How old are you?” I asked, interrupting whatever he was going to say. At that moment I cared about nothing but finding some proof that he might be real.  
“18,” he told me, tilting his head. “Born ‘63.”  
“The year he died,” I said under my breath, narrowing my eyes and breathing heavily. I felt faint.  
“What was that, mate?” the Johnny before me asked, leaning forward. “You alright?”  
“Nothing,” I told him, smiling cautiously. “Wo-would you like to come in?”  
When he followed me inside I could hear the Marvelettes coming from my room, the lights flickering with just the slightest hum as a sort of peace fell over the house. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to touch him.  
“Love this song,” Johnny nodded appreciatively.  
“Me too,” I choked out, my hands shaking.


End file.
